I wish you the best of luck with all of this. I’m grateful that you reached out and gave me the chance to talk about this serious issue on here. My inbox is always open and whilst I can’t always respond to every message, I really hope your sister manages to break free soon.
Normally I sign off with a cheery and silly message but after this it doesn’t feel appropriate so I shall simply say thank you for listening. This is Doctor Lily Galbraith signing off, be brave, have faith and thank you.
And as she says goodbye, I find myself saying ‘thank you’ out loud too, leaving Dim, who has finished desecrating the curtains to move on to some fluffy cushion that Cass bought me last year. I have a map now and am going to call up Malcolm and Sue, get a head start on Cass joining us on Skype and see if they can help me kickstart my plan of action as prescribed by Bristol’s one and only Love Doctor.
Chapter Five
Lily
Ipull myself up on the ledge of the pool and shake myself off. That felt amazing. It was exactly what I needed. I’ve had a full-on day with Angela as we started to deconstruct what it is that she is looking for and the best way to achieve that.
I am very aware that there are a lot of negative assumptions made about therapy dolls and there is often a belief that the people who have them imagine them to be real. This is not the case at all. Angela knows her dolls are a prop in a role-playing game and she needs a partner who gets that. Her upset over the popcorn was merely disappointment that her date was not that man.
Therapy dolls help lots of people, and they are increasingly used with dementia patients as well as for those with PTSD. They trigger a sense of emotional wellbeing; the act of cuddling and cosseting releases endorphins. Not all doll owners have medical needs and despite them having a bit of a stigma there is absolutely nothing wrong in having and loving these dolls. With Angela, I think the key is to ensure the dolls enhance her life rather than limit it. But right now, her walls are very much up and I have a long way to go in developing a therapeutic relationship with her.
For now my work day is over and I am in the pool at the lido having just finished my mandatory fifty lengths. I’m strict about doing them, because my fitness is important and if I let one day slide... well, I don’t dare. And now they are done, I need to warm myself through.
Entering the glass-fronted building at the end of the pool, I grab my towel from the hook and push open the door to the sauna. The wall of heat hits me as I enter, knocking the air out of my lungs. But the familiar smell that I love, of the dry hot air, is tinged with an overwhelming scent of aftershave and whisky.
A lot of aftershave and whisky.
That’s new. My nose automatically crinkles.
‘I’m sorry about the smell. Really I am. Can you forgive me?’ A male voice comes from the top corner of the sauna. It isn’t one I recognise and, with the lido largely being members only, that’s unusual.
The wooden seating has three stages; the higher the seat, the higher the intensity of the heat. The voice, or at least the man it belongs to, is perched right up the top, in my favourite spot. Which I will forgive, because I am shallow and this man is something else.
Even sat down I can see he is tall and every sleek inch of him ripples, like a racehorse or a big cat. It’s hard not to reach out, run a finger down his frame just to see if he’s real. He reminds me a little of Trevor Noah – I’m a bit of a fangirl – but has that real-life twinkle that makes him so much hotter than anything beamed through a TV.
‘That’s fine, really,’ I say as I climb to the top, placing myself on the other side as far from him as I can. I’ve been waiting to get in this sauna all day and I don’t want to sit on one of the lower levels. My neck is as knotty as a boy scout’s handbook and the heat is the best way I know of relaxing.
‘It’s not though, I can only apologise –’ this man is determined to chat ‘– I would have stayed at home but a) I was afraid I’d asphyxiate myself and b) I had to be here for a certain time. It’s faded a bit. You should have smelt me an hour ago.’
I surprise myself as a burst of laughter shoots from my mouth. This is unusual sauna conversation. Sniffing someone has never come up before. Despite my desire for silence as I came in, I’m here for this chat.
I sit to the side of him and see he has a tattoo on his upper arm, the face of an older man who has the most lively and wise eyes I have ever seen. And I flick a look up to the face of the man sat next to me and although his hair is trimmed short and he lacks the locks of the tattoo man, I see he is the very spit of him.
‘It is a little strong,’ I concede. Seeing as we’ve clearly dispensed already with the polite social norms, I follow up with ‘Do you normally wear that much?’
‘Oh yeah, thirteen-year-old me knows the ladies like it. Or the men. I’m an equal opportunities nasal offender.’
‘And do you usually listen to thirteen-year-old you?’ I can’t help but ask – his silliness is drawing me in. His answering smile reveals dimples and his eyes crinkle, deep conker-brown puddles that promise fun and are framed with the longest lashes I’ve ever seen. I am bowled over by the physical perfection of this man. He belongs on billboards the length and breadth of the country, not in the sauna, next to me.
‘No, never, he was an utter fool. Even more stupid than thirty-year-old me, but you know he was enthusiastic. I’m a little more jaded, and remarkably, way more embarrassed. Teen me would have swaggered to this smell.’
‘He would have had some competition from my Impulse Spray.’ I note that he is five years younger than I am.
‘Aha, see, I am not the only one with a guilty conscience.’
‘Mmmm.’ I draw out the sound, feeling it vibrate against my lips. I’m enjoying this. ‘Didn’t feel the compulsion to mix it with a bottle or two of gin though,’ I add.
‘I feel that I want to explain how I got this particular concoction on me. But really it would definitely be crossing a line to tell you the full story.’
‘In that case, it’s probably sensible for me not to ask.’ I smile.Cross the line, cross the line, my inner voice is squealing. I want to know.
‘Very.’ The man nods and I look up at him, knowing I’m grinning like the Cheshire cat and making sure I hold his eyes. There is no way I’m going to scan the rest of him. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to train clients, maleandfemale, to look at the eyes. LOOK AT THE EYES! At this moment the temptation to let my gaze drift just a little bit down is strong.
‘But now you know, I’m going to have to askwhyyou smell like a thirteen-year-old boy who has raided his dad’s aftershave and then doused himself in a bottle of Glenfiddich as well. Seeing as you’re claiming it’s not deliberate.’
